I don’t find Christmas a particularly sexy time. I eat myself into a constant state of ‘never feeling hungry’. When I drink, I also overindulge in all manner of sparkly drinks which make me happy inside, and apparently show my work colleagues just how much of the Single Ladies dance I can do (complete with dramatic hair flicks) yet when I wake up I don’t seem to feel like Beyoncé anymore. I’m cold, it’s dark and often I’d much rather wrap myself in a duvet and watch Love Actually for the twelfth time, whilst proclaiming my anger at key characters for not having their shit together, but still claiming it is a beacon of festive loveliness.
I’m surrounded by the most beautiful, sensual pictures of bodies wrapped in twinkly lights, cocks surrounded by wreaths or holly (which makes me slightly flinch at the thought) and skin hidden behind swathes of luxurious, silky ribbon. I don’t think I have even attempted to take a photo worthy of submission to Sinful Sunday in December, which is a shame because I’m usually after any excuse to show off.
These feelings were circulating around my head until Saturday evening, when someone managed to make a standard advent calendar really fucking hot.
He’s been away for a few days and I’m curled up on the sofa as he arrives. He bundles me into a cuddle and we begin to kiss. It starts quite innocently, in a simple kiss to let each other know we’ve missed each other. But that innocence is quickly dissolved, by the way we begin to linger, run hands into our hair and pull each other in closer. I can feel he’s hard, and part of me hopes he simply pulls my tights down to my knees, shifts my underwear to the side and fucks me into the cushions on the sofa.
Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) he doesn’t, and I’m instead instructed to lie on my bed, face down and wait for him. I’m not the best at waiting; I wriggle and slightly moan, but I’m always keen to fulfill an instruction.
He leaves me waiting longer than I’d like before returning and fixing my hands behind my back, and blindfolding me. I’m turned onto my back, and it is at this stage my tights (and pants) are peeled to my ankles. His hands grip my inner thighs as he spreads them apart, and leaves me waiting, again. I can feel cool air at my cunt, and all I want to do is press my thighs back together and try to rub and stimulate my clit.
You’ve not been keeping up with your advent calendar, have you?
Now, usually if he uttered this, I would expect some sort of gleeful look where he claims some of mine as his, ecstatic that he gets three extra mouthfuls of the strangely addictive chocolate within. But this wasn’t the tone. He was really quite serious.
‘No…’ I squeak- a mixture of confusion, surprise and anticipation.
I can feel him kneel by my head and I instinctively open my mouth wide, tongue outstretched. I can smell his cock and he begins to tease me, by dragging it across my lips.
Would you like a treat?
‘Yes, please.’ Of course I do, I want his cock so far into the back of my throat that my eyes water and I make a huge, undignified mess.
But he doesn’t give me that (straight away). Instead he opens my latest advent calendar window, places the chocolate on my tongue and closes my mouth. I begin to chew as it starts to melt in my mouth, before he pushes himself inside.
Oh, fuck. I have half a chewed chocolate (probably a bloody baby Jesus for irony) and most of a cock in my mouth. And I do make a huge, undignified mess.
‘Well, that’s one’ He says, as he slowly draws himself from me and drags the combination of saliva and chocolate across my face with it.
Five to go